Nothing More
by liondancer17
Summary: Arthur wonders while he watches a strange habit that Alfred seems to have developed as of late.
1. Chapter 1

A/N

This is just something I wanted to start writing while I worked to get my muse back. I hope you enjoy. And I'm sorry about my overly-long hiatus.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>Sometimes, Arthur would <em>watch<em>-

_(-and wonder-)_

-while Alfred twitched.

The colony—because he really was still a colony, _and he always would be_—would twitch. Constrained under the starched, pressed silk of his suit. Suffocated under fine, Italian collars and tight ties that strung around his throat, pinned by an eagle button and slowly constricting _(too)_ pale flesh. He would burn away under thick light of blue bulbs, buzzing overhead, papers jumping out of hands and begging to be thrown away so he could leap out the window and fly—

Arthur wondered if he remembered.

He would chastise himself, shaking his head when those thoughts intruded once more. Because it was utterly ridiculous to ever think that he would remember. Silly, folly, idiotic, and just wrong. The boy was a child—_a sweet, innocent child ready to be molded into shape—_when Arthur had found him. He had wide, innocent eyes the colour of the Kansas sky. Cornsilk hair the colour of the sunflower fields in the Dakotas. Pale skin like seafoam on the Atlantic and Pacific shores. _He had been the perfect opportunity for the English Empire. Untapped potential. Unused lands. Ready to be taken home and __**made just the way the Queen had wanted. **_

There had been nothing else. He was just what England had made him. He was just what Arthur had created. He spoke the Queen's Language, he ate English food. He followed British Ideals and modeled himself _the perfect legacy for the British Empire, deep influences embedded in American culture and always sprouting new seeds. (British Invasion indeed…)_

There was nothing else. It would be ridiculous to think that there would ever be anything _but _British in the boy's head. He was always going to be an English colony. He was always going to be _Arthur's. _

But sometimes, Arthur would grow afraid that he _remembered. _

The colony would twitch. Pick at his skin, pulling, scratching, _clawing _at the pale flesh, like he wanted to peel it off, like it was some sort of _infection _he was trying to pick away. He would tug at the roots of his hair, running fingers through blond locks, biting on a pink lip as his fingers _curled _and he _pulled, _sharp fangs worrying away at pink, claws digging, scratching, _get it away get it away I want it away!_

And Arthur would blink when those thoughts pushed their way into his mind.

And he would turn away from the colony. He would snap back to normal soon, anyway. And it would be over.

And Arthur would stuff his hands into his pockets. So he would stop picking at his skin.

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><p><em>The first animal that Arthur encountered while staying in his new colonies was a rat.<em>

_The fat, long-nosed, bald creature was diseased. Dirty paws scrabbling away as he ate moldy corn. Arthur had raised his knife, ready to slay the creature, when he spotted a dog watching him from the woods._

_It was a dog, at least, that was what Arthur had determined at the time. A dog with gray-brown fur, brushed with red, which watched him with careful eyes. Arthur had determined it too much of a waste to kill, and so, simply stepped on the rat with his heel, and began to walk away. He heard the crunch of bone. Smelled the stench of its dirty, stained blood. And, deeming it dead, saw no further need to waste his time on the animal. _

_The dog, emerging from the brush, took the rat in his powerful jaws. It carried the vermin to a tree, dug a hole with his front paws, and laid the rat to rest._

_Arthur figured that the dog was saving his kill for a later meal._

_He never saw the rat that scurried away from the underbrush. Or, if he did, he simply did not care._

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><p>Alfred had blue eyes.<p>

Beautiful eyes. The colour of Queen Victoria's. The colour of the sea, the colour of the sapphires in St. Edward's Crown.

Alfred was the example of European beauty. A Roman nose, noble forehead, thin lips and wide eyes. A bright smile that could light up the sky. He was tall like a Germanic nation, broad-shouldered like a Mediterranean, and _pale_ like a Slavic.

_(The White Man's Burden of Beauty.)_

Alfred _certainly did not_ have amber eyes. Eyes that glowed yellow in low light. Eyes dark and gleaming with intelligence and mischief. Eyes that were **old**, as old as Arthur, as _old as Yao. _

There were times, when Arthur would glance at _his_ colony, that he would see a flash of strange eyes looking in his direction.

And a **smile**.

Alfred had an innocent smile. The same smile he had when he first presented flowers to his big brother, and the same smile he had when Arthur would praise him and _hug him and teach him all of the ways of the Old World._

But the smile he had in those rare_, imagined _moments, was a different smile altogether.

It reminded him of the Cheshire Cat. Of a fox. Of a _thief and a liar and a trickster._

But that man had amber eyes.

And Alfred.

Alfred had blue eyes.

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><p><em>During the early days of colonization, Arthur visited the Islands off of the coast of Massachusetts. He gave them the name befitting the raw land he discovered. He named them after his Queen. <em>

_The islands, he had discovered, were thankfully untouched by savages. They were inhabited only by beasts—but that could easily be taken care of. The beasts dared not approach him, anyway. They would not come by a civilized man. _

_Until he shot down a bird—one of the ones that lived on his new land, though he had not bothered to learn the name._

_A dog, one like the dog he had encountered before, emerged from the trees, staring at him with amber eyes. _

_Arthur's lips had twitched in amusement as he had watched. The animal was waiting for him to leave behind his kill. That did not matter to Arthur. He had shot the bird for pleasure, anyway._

_For several long minutes, he held the animal's gaze. _

"_Go on." He had prompted. "Take it. I don't want it."_

_The animal only twitched its long, bushy tail. Watching. Waiting._

"_Take it!" Arthur demanded. "Take it and leave me be!"_

_The dog, as if understanding, walked past Arthur. It nosed the bird's wing, and a flush of satisfaction swam through the Englishman. He had won over a stupid animal. He had made it do exactly what he wanted without effort. _

_There was a burst of movement, and he shot blindly in the direction of it. _

_A bird burst from the trees. Wings battering his face. Talons in his cheeks. _

_Blood stained his mouth—though whether it was his own or the animal's, he did not know. He recognized it as the animal he had shot._

_For the next several days, black blisters developed from where he had bled. _

_He did not return._

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><p>Alfred had been created the moment that Arthur began to colonize his land. Alfred had been created specifically to be <em>his <em>little colony. Alfred was _his_ creation, and _his_ alone.

There was nothing before Arthur had settled there. There was no other culture, besides what Arthur had created. Alfred's entire world was what Arthur had provided for him. All of his memories involved being guided by his Big Brother, all of his knowledge came from what Arthur had given to him. He protected Alfred. Sheltered Alfred. _Owned and created Alfred._

There was nothing but Arthur in his world.

Arthur had made sure of that.

_Alfred was his creation. Nothing more. He would never be anything more than Arthur's colony._

Yet sometimes, he would stare in (_bemusement, not amazement, never amazement_) as Alfred pulled some desperate trick from his sleeve and winked, setting the world spinning again. He would give a bright grin, disappearing into the shadows and usurping suspicion, giving the world a run for its money with his clever hands and even more clever eyes.

_He was a tricky little fox, a clever little snake. _

Just like the British Empire, Arthur would proclaim.

_Just like what he remembered. _

If he was asked, he would honestly not know anything about the savages that once roamed Alfred's land. Oh, he knew who they were. Indians, that was what he would say. Indians that were once bothersome to the colonies, but were never anything that was _his_ problem.

_(Convenient, that he would claim ownership for Alfred's successes, but would deny any relation to the death of millions.) _

He knew nothing more than that. _Cared _nothing more than that.

Because they weren't a part of Alfred. They would never be a part of Alfred. So it didn't matter.

_One group of people is __**just**__ a number, after all._

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><p><em>Once, in the early days of colonization, during agreements between himself and the Indians, he listened.<em>

_He was told of the Ma'ii, the Trickster, the Coyote-Creator that protected the land. He was a patient God, who was clever and quick, able to steal the sun for them each morning, able to call down the rains, and walk as a Man among their people. He was a shapeshifter, a God of many faces, and would bring down Vengeance on all who touched his people._

_Arthur had listened patiently to the Indian's ramblings._

_And then, days later, killed the village, and took the land. _

_The man had warned him, with his dying breath, to not trust Ma'ii. Because he would break Arthur with his tricks. He would fool the man, and destroy him from the inside-out for his arrogance and cruelty. _

_Of course, it was only a coincidence that Arthur had found Alfred the next day._

_Of course, it was only a coincidence that Alfred had won the Revolutionary War with his trickery. _

_Of course, it was only a coincidence that America rose to become a world power, surpassing England, without need of Arthur anymore. _

_Of course, it was only a coincidence that Alfred would smile at him, with a gleaming, Coyote grin, while Arthur lost his place as an Empire. _

_Only a coincidence._

_Nothing more._

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><p>AN

As always, I would appreciate reviews.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N

A companion to_ Nothing More_. Goodness, I break my hiatus for two one-shots in one day?

I quite like Ma'ii. I think I'll do more with him. I also quite enjoyed writing from Arthur's POV. Or, at least, the slightly tainted British Empire I portray him as in this universe. Perhaps I can turn this into a small series of snippets out of this universe. As always, I will take suggestions, and credit the one who came up with the idea.

I also had to do this from Alfred's perspective. He just has such a distinctive voice to me that only works when told from his point of view.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>I suppose, to begin with, that I must tell you my real name.<p>

_ It's only polite, after all._

My name is not _Alfred Jones_, and, quite honestly, I wonder what possessed the _p__aleface_ to choose _that_ for _me. _I know, I know, after King Alfred the First, but it always sort of struck me as the name of a stuffy old man. Like the _Great Chief_, I suppose. If anything, _he _would be _Alfred, _not I.

I prefer _Ma'ii_, but it is not my only name. It's just the one my people say_ suits me_ the most. I have as many names as I do faces-and I have quite a few of those, as well.

In the paleface's language, my name is _Coyote. _Just Coyote.

_(Nothing more.)_

I was never a _nation_. I was never designed to _serve, to degrade, to work all stuffed up like a squirrel burrowed up before winter. _I was the _Trickster, the Coyote, the shapeshifting God of Laughter. _

Oh, but I'm a nation _now, _make no mistake about that. If I will it,** it will happen.**

And I must say, the humans now? _Much more fun to play with then way back then. _And My Pups, my little children that roam the Earth as little Tricksters themselves? Oh, _I love them all._ A particular soft spot of mine is a Mr. Jesses James. Train robberies and bank robberies and such dramatic entrances? Ha! I couldn't have come up with better stories if I tried!

(_Palefaces, in their strange way, have wormed themselves into my dried, shrunken, old heart. After they stopped acting like spoiled children, and learned to put away their toys and do their chores like good little brats. I don't mind them, now. In fact, I've grown quite fond of them and their strange ways. Where would an old Dog be without his new Tricks? Evil Corporation of Apple, indeed. I wonder what my Old Pup, George Washington, would think of his New Pups now?)_

Oh yes, I enjoy my new game. I enjoy it a **lot. **

I enjoy the little punishments I bring when my new _Invaders_ act up and hurt _My Children_ a little too much.

_(Spanish Flu/The Great Depression/The Dustbowl)_

And I enjoy the new **games** I get to play when I get a little **stir-crazy_,_**trapped in this new form for a little longer than I would like.

_(The Cold War/World War One/World War Two)_

I'm not a very _Kind God_. Never mistake me for that. I am not Kind, I am not Good, but I am not Evil.

_(Evil is far too depressing, and Good is far too boring for my tastes, anyway.)_

I am the _in-between_.

I am _a contradiction, a thief, a protector. I make things happen. I am what **I will myself to be. **_

Or.

Or I could be what you want me to be.

_Just don't expect to be very happy with what you believe, versus **reality.**_

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><p>AN

Very short.

I know.

But I may add more later.


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